


Look After Him

by thegrumblingirl



Series: Exploration Date: 2048 [3]
Category: Almost Human
Genre: Angst and Fluff, I kinda know where I'm going with this Dorian now, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/pseuds/thegrumblingirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dorian came to, he blinked his eyes very slowly, trying to take stock of himself and the things around him. His spatial sensors told him that he was in a crowded room, his light sensors signalled he was inside, underground, so he shut down the processes linked to recharging using solar energy. Taking in the sounds and what he could see of his surroundings — which was mainly a patch of ceiling so long as he didn’t dare move his head — he determined he was down in Rudy’s lab. He tried to move his neck and was relieved to find that he could without obstruction. Carefully stretching the mechanic tendons, he looked around. Rudy was nowhere to be seen, but when Dorian looked to his left, he stopped short.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look After Him

**Author's Note:**

> Now that I've figured out how to explore the different potentials of Dorian's representation in terms of the degree of partying that goes on in his pants, I can write more :)  
> This will be the series in which Dorian does have a kind of sex drive, and the possibility of exploring that with John, and what implications that has when it comes to consent, etc. The other series, including the work called "DRN Protocol #71381: Decision-Making Based on Emotional Responses" will focus on a Dorian who is closer to the asexual spectrum. The show may have given him impressive junk, but that doesn't mean he wants to use it. My headcanon is that the scientists working on the Synthetic Soul programme opted to give the DRNs a choice, since they're very self-aware of what and who they are. There's a field of tension there: if the DRNs were programmed, then how can not everything be predetermined? However, since they're fully sentient, I'd argue that this is possible. What am I saying, this is fanfic. Anything's possible!

When Dorian came to, he blinked his eyes very slowly, trying to take stock of himself and the things around him. His spatial sensors told him that he was in a crowded room, his light sensors signalled he was inside, underground, so he shut down the processes linked to recharging using solar energy. Taking in the sounds and what he could see of his surroundings — which was mainly a patch of ceiling so long as he didn’t dare move his head — he determined he was down in Rudy’s lab. He tried to move his neck and was relieved to find that he could without obstruction. Carefully stretching the mechanic tendons, he looked around. Rudy was nowhere to be seen, but when Dorian looked to his left, he stopped short.

In the little wheely chair Rudy often used sat John Kennex, asleep, slouched into it. He’d moved the chair so close that his long legs were shoved underneath the workbench Rudy had strapped Dorian into. One hand was in his lap, the other… following the line of John’s arm, he saw that John’s left hand was lying next to his own, pinkies barely touching. Dorian concentrated his sensors and found that, if he focused, he could feel it, just at the edge of his spatial awareness scan. He ramped up the processes’ CPU a little more and held on to the shred of warmth that he could sense emitting from John’s proximity as well. Something inside him eased, gave away. Dorian had accessed his database on human sensation enough times to know that, if he had a stomach, there would be knot he would feel easing, something that was choking him would have let go, let him breathe. But why?

He passed another glance over John, taking in the way he held himself in his sleep, the rhythm of his breathing. There were cuts on his face and a nasty bruise blooming on his jaw, and a scan revealed that one of his ribs was cracked, but other than that, he was ok. John was ok. Dorian blinked again. So that was why.

Hesitantly, he inched his hand forward, slowly covering John’s fingers with his own. John didn’t wake or flinch away, so Dorian grew bolder, curling his fingers, lightly gripping his partner’s hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze and brushed his thumb over the knuckles. They were slightly swollen, the skin cracked in places. At the rate they were getting into fist fights with crooks, John’s right hand would take 8.6 days to fully heal, until the skin would be smooth and free of bruises, and not every tight squeeze or punch would smart like hell.

John’s breathing changed, and Dorian knew he would wake up within the next ten seconds. Within fourteen seconds, there would be yelling. Within thirty, John would either storm out or fall silent, glaring at Dorian, while Rudy fussed over Dorian and admonished them both for getting themselves into this mess. Again. Dorian found that a sort of prickling ran up his spine from the base as he looked at their hands joined on the bench next to his hip. Nervous, that was it. He was nervous about John’s reaction. Dorian frowned at the centipede going up and down his back. He would have to talk to John about this.

Before he could do what humans referred to as ‘making a mental note,’ which for him meant programming an alert into his central circuit system, he was jerked out of his thoughts by a gasp from his left. He looked up to see John staring at him, eyes wide. His hand had yet to move. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed it yet. The Detective blinked before shaking his head — to clear it, Dorian knew. (Dorian had once found himself doing that after not being able to shake the mental image of a particularly disgusting joke Det. Paul had told. It hadn’t agreed with him. Nor had it worked.) John sat up, straightening his back, wincing when his muscles shifted around the injured rib. Suddenly, he stopped and looked towards his hand. Dorian’s hand. He glanced up at Dorian’s face. Dorian made sure not to let his face go blank, he was certain John wouldn’t appreciate an expressionless gaze just now, but he also didn’t know what else to do. He settled for the confused slant of his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards in a tiny smile. John’s eyes narrowed a little before he looked away. Dorian felt worry rising, but then John turned his hand in Dorian’s, his fingers gripping Dorian’s in turn. Dorian’s lips curled into a full smile, and not for the first time when it came to John Kennex, it felt as though the action had preceded the command.

“You asshole,” John growled without warning. Dorian raised his eyebrows, his smile faltering a little. “You reckless, stupid, sacrifice-happy asshole!”

“John, I was progr—”

“Tell me that you were programmed for this one more time and I’ll do the Syndicate a favour and finish the job they started on you.”

“They would have killed dozens of innocent families in that building. They would have killed you!” John’s eyes bore into Dorian’s, Dorian stared back with the same intensity. “They would have killed my partner,” he continued more quietly, although they had undoubtedly already alerted Rudy to the fact that they were both conscious. “It’s my job, just as it’s yours, John. You would have done the same in my place, you’d have done whatever necessary to save those people. But you don’t have first dibs on putting yourself at risk here.”

“Well, I should.”

“Bullshit, John.” John frowned. Dorian didn’t curse very often. “We both know you don’t want a coward for a partner.”

“I don’t want you for a partner, either!” John burst out, leaning forward as far as his rib would allow.

Dorian reared back. “John?” he asked. His voice sounded small even to himself, although he hadn’t accessed his vocal modulator. His face showed the hurt he felt, he could tell by John’s slumping shoulders. Something was crawling up his insides, something paralysing. Briefly, Dorian wondered if he’d been poisoned.

John tightened his fingers around Dorian’s, as if to make sure he wouldn’t pull away. “I didn’t mean — you’re my partner, and I’m yours. But I can’t… you make it sound so easy. When you hurled yourself into that elevator shaft, you said that it’s your job and what you were made to do, and that was the end of it. Afterwards, you said you didn’t want to die, and I thought that was it, that you get it. But then, today, you did it again, and you just… it was the same look on your face. It was so simple again and so final, as if you’d… flicked a switch. Can you? Flick that switch and just… go to your death, and leave me behind?”

“What do you want, John?” Dorian couldn’t help the lights just underneath his skin flickering as he tried to process what John had just told him. So many foreign emotions, his own and John’s, were threatening to cause some backlog.

“I want it to not be easy, I want to know that you will fight, that you’ll fight and come back. And maybe… just maybe I want to see the fear in your eyes, because I know I’m scared shitless when you do something like what you did today.”

Dorian opened his mouth to answer, to tell John that he’d done what he had to make it easier for John, that, statistically, seeing someone else’s fear only made your own worse, but a quiet voice cut through.

“Enough.” They whipped their heads around to see Rudy standing a few feet away, holding replacement parts. He looked gaunt and drawn. Dorian recognised it as worry and concern, but there was something else. The scientist looked sad, almost mournful. “Enough, both of you. There’s work to do, and if you can’t refrain from upsetting Dorian, John, you need to leave.”

John’s eyes flickered to Dorian’s, who briefly squeezed his hand, before looking back up at Rudy.

“He’ll behave himself,” the DRN answered quietly.

Half-way through fixing Dorian, John did have to leave — Captain Maldonado wanted to see him in her office. John sighed and got up, letting go of Dorian’s hand. “Call me when you’re done, I’ll come pick you up.”

Dorian nodded, his voice apparatus temporarily disabled because of the work Rudy was doing beneath his chestplate. He watched John leave, the man’s back and shoulders slowly straightening the closer he got to the exit. He smiled a little sadly. No-one would see John Kennex’s back bowed. No-one but Dorian, it seemed.

“You should be careful, you two.” Rudy interrupted his thoughts.

Dorian raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Relationships aren’t easy on a good day. And yours and John’s, it’s like… it’s like dynamite, and mercurial, and… I don’t want you to get hurt. Either of you. But you will, if you go on like this. You’re Detectives, you will get hurt, and… ugh, never mind. There, done. You can talk again now.”

Dorian did the equivalent of clearing his throat. “Thanks. We’ll get hurt. We’re cops. And then what? Tell me.”

Rudy looked down at him with apologetic eyes. “One day, one of you will outlive the other. Even if it’s not the job. You don’t age, Dorian. He does. And even if you both make it, and he takes his twenty, who’s to say they’ll let you go to look after him?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will. Give it time. It wasn’t supposed to… but you are almost human, after all. Just… when you do, don’t let it go.”

Dorian stared at Rudy with incomprehension on his face that nearly went off the scales.

*

In the meantime, John was receiving a stern talking-to from Sandra that he really could have gone without.

“You can’t go off the grid like that every time one of you gets into trouble,” she admonished him. “It took hours to find you.”

“You could have just tracked my phone!”

“I wanted to give you some privacy!” she burst out, throwing her hands into the air in a rare show of exasperation.

“Privacy? I was down in the lab, with Dorian and Rudy, what privacy would I need?”

She tilted her head, giving him a look that said, ‘Clearly, you left your brain at home today.’

“What?” he asked, irritation increasing.

She sighed, shaking her head. “When Dorian calls, take him home, get some rest. Take the rest of the week.”

“But we’re fine!”

“Take the rest of the week.” The Captain fixed him with a determined glare, and he knew it was futile to protest. Instead, he nodded. “Good,” she said. “Go. Look after him.”

He frowned a little at that particular order, but didn’t question it before he left.

*

An hour later, Dorian waited for John to join him on the sofa in his apartment. When John did sit down, Dorian followed an urge he didn’t quite know where it came from and scooted closer, pressing himself into John’s side. John raised an eyebrow, but lifted his arm and wound it around Dorian’s shoulders, pulling him against him. The first time they’d sat like that, John had asked him if he enjoyed it. He didn’t have to ask now, because Dorian melted into him and burrowed closer. John huffed quietly and reached around with his free hand to take hold of Dorian’s wrist. Slowly, he tugged at him. Dorian went willingly and let John guide his arm until it rested across John’s stomach and waist. John shifted his body to the side, sinking further back into the backrest so they were sitting at an angle. Dorian wriggled until he was more comfortable, half-lying on John, but careful not to put too much pressure on his ribcage.

“Humans need eight positive touches a day in order to feel comfortable,” Dorian muttered quietly.

“Do they?”

“Yes. I believe this is your fourth.”

Dorian registered the little snort of laughter John let out in several ways: he could feel the movement of his chest, he could feel the gust of air against his hair and forehead, he heard the soft sound and smiled.

“And to whom do I owe the first three, I wonder.”

“That would be me.”

“I gathered.”

“My personal space subroutines sort of… recognise you.”

“Hence the cuddling?”

“Hence the cuddling.”

John shook his head, but he didn’t seem angry or upset. “I’m sorry about earlier.” Dorian raised his head a little to look up at him. “Can I… Dorian, how do you feel?”

“I’m fine, why?”

“No, I mean… _how_ do you feel?” When Dorian just looked at him, confused, John continued. “I don’t know how the scientists that created the DRN programme figured it out. This Synthetic Soul thing, I don’t know how that works — I don’t know how humans work. I don’t know what gives the body mind, and the mind body, I don’t know that kind of stuff. All I know is, I feel, and it’s there in all of me, except my leg. I can’t feel it when I touch it. You’re built differently from my leg, I know, so… you can feel. You feel it when you touch me, you enjoy cuddling. With me, of all people. But how? How do you make sense of it, and what if… what if it gets too much? When I lost my leg… when I woke up, the doctors told me that I wasn’t in a coma for so long because of my injuries, though they were bad. They said I wouldn’t wake up, my mind wouldn’t let me, my brain kept me under. They said it was the trauma. Sometimes, when humans get overwhelmed, they split. They disassociate from pain or fear. It’s not something we can control, hardly any of it is. There’s only so much we can take. When you walked into that building today… can you choose to feel? Or can you… can you turn it off?”

“You have nerve endings, I have sensors. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to interact with the physical world around me. When I… when you fixed that hole in my head with bubblegum, it wasn’t exactly like pain the way you know it. I had error messages everywhere, circuits were being redirected to distribute the load, but I couldn’t cope. Before that, when all the emergency calls were rerouted to me, I knew for the first time what a migraine must feel like for humans. When something like that happens, I feel… distress. Having a Synthetic Soul means I have emotions mostly the way humans do. Your emotional processes, your reactions — it’s bio-chemistry, most of it. The scientists that came up with the programme recreated that. The code took nearly two decades to write, and I’m sure Rudy told you that they still weren’t anywhere near the finish line. It’s infinitely complex, the way the human genome is. But I feel, I can empathise. When I get shot, I feel what you would describe as adrenaline, because my processes have to regulate my body’s responses, have to free up enough CPU to cope with what just happened, and formulate a response, to keep me going despite any potential damage. I don’t bleed, and my skin is akin to armour, but I feel that something is wrong. I feel anxiety and stress and when I walked into that apartment block today, I felt fear. Fear for myself, and fear for you. The fear for you was… more.”

John drew breath to speak, but Dorian pressed on. “Right now, I want to tighten my arm around you, because I’m thinking of that fear. I don’t because my scan shows me that we have to move soon due to the pain in your ribcage increasing. But I want to, and I nearly would have just now, without thinking. You call that… ‘instinctively.’ Instinct is something primal in humans, tied to the basic needs of life, of comfort. Being afraid to die is also instinct, self-preservation. I don’t want to die John, I don’t want to leave you. But I can’t promise you that what happened today won’t happen again. It’s my programming.”

This time, John interrupted him. “If you ever do that again, I’ll come with you,” he spoke fiercely, his eyes seeking Dorian’s. “I won’t let you do this alone.”

“John, why do you insist—”

“Because it’s my own goddamn free will!” John nearly yelled, sitting up so abruptly that Dorian winced in sympathy for his rib. Hands on Dorian’s shoulders, John kept his partner upright until he could sort himself out. “I won’t let you go alone. You say that you feel, but what about your free will? You say you don’t want to leave me, but then your programming is more important than what you want? How does that work? It’s a mess, Dorian, and I don’t understand.”

“What would you call it? Sacrificing yourself on the job?”

“We say… when a cop gets killed, we say they died in the line of duty. That’s what it is. It’s my duty. But it’s… it’s an emotional decision that you make. It’s not regulations, it’s not rules, it’s not something someone else decided for you, someone who wrote code into your brain that tells you what you have to do, what you’re designed for. It’s not fair,” John finished, his voice barely above a whisper.

“There is pressure building up in your tear ducts,” Dorian pointed out, vaguely aware that it was the wrong thing to say.

John laughed, a humourless, brittle thing. “So what? Nearly lost my partner today, and he just told me that there’s nothing I can do to stop him next time.”

“You’re saying the same thing,” Dorian reminded him.

John raked his hand through his already untidy hair, making it stand up in all directions. “We’re a mess.”

“Would it help to say that I feel it’s my duty?”

“And how can I believe that?”

“I’m your partner, and you’re mine. And if anyone’s taught me anything about feeling in this world, it’s you. There is… there is a switch, sometimes. I think maybe that’s called ruthlessness.”

“I have that, too,” John said warily.

“Then perhaps we’re a good match.” Slowly, as not to spook John, Dorian reached up and gently combed John’s hair into a semblance of order with his fingers. “You look like a bird’s nest.”

John had tensed at first, but then relaxed into the touch. “All your fault,” he murmured accusingly.

“Not even half.”

“Three quarters.”

“John, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Says the man whose personal space subroutines think I’m part of the furniture.”

Dorian smiled, brushing his fingers through John’s hair one last time before reluctantly pulling his hand away. Meeting John’s own smiling eyes, it was as though something in his chest caught. Up close, he could see the skin around John’s eyes crinkle when he smiled. Dorian knew it was a sign of maturation, and that his skin did it, too, because he had been crafted to appear a certain age. But John’s would expand, and deepen, while Dorian would remain the same. Ever the same. Suddenly, his eyes widened. So that was why.

John tilted his head. “Dorian? What is it?”

“I understand now. Why Rudy looked so sad when he interrupted us, and when he… told me to be careful, after you’d left.”

“What are you on about?”

“Can I… can I try something? It’s got to do with personal space.”

John frowned, confused. “Uh… yeah.”

Dorian looked down at where John’s good knee was pressed into his thigh, looked at John’s chest that was scarcely a foot away from his own, looked at his own hands as he slowly brought them up, back to John’s face. Carefully, he let his fingertips ghost over John’s cheeks before gently cupping the sides of his face. He kept his eyes trained on John’s, ready to stop at the first sign of distress, but for now, there was just curiosity. John’s eyes widened when Dorian moved closer — he must know where this was going. Still, he didn’t pull away.

Dorian inched forward slowly, giving John time to pull away, time to tell him to stop. He didn’t. John swallowed convulsively, and then his mouth parted slightly. Dorian’s gaze dropped to fall on John’s lips, lips he had to admit to have watched move before, as he spoke, as he ate, drank his morning coffee. Dorian had thought about doing this before, but he had taken it as a by-product of John being the person he was closest to in a world he didn’t always understand and that he wasn’t sure he belonged to. But now… it was all he wanted. All he wanted was John.

When they were so close that he could feel John’s breath, could sense the rise and fall of John’s chest, John gave him a tiny nod.

Surging forward, Dorian closed the distance and pressed his lips against John’s, his sculpted mouth slanting firmly across the other man’s. John kissed him back after a second’s hesitation, brushing Dorian’s lips with his own and tilting his head so their noses wouldn’t bump. Dorian felt John’s breath ghosting across his cheek, felt the warm skin brushing his heat up even more under the stimulation. Dorian felt himself responding, felt… excitement, and elation. He couldn’t help but smile against John’s mouth. As if in response, one of John’s hands came up and grabbed a hold of his t-shirt. Dorian made a soft noise at the back of his throat, and John eventually pulled away, but not far. Dorian noticed his hands had moved from the side of John’s face to the back of his neck and into his hair.

“Huh,” he said quietly.

“How’s the experiment going?” John was smiling a little, probably at the expression on Dorian’s face. He couldn’t say, exactly, so he expected he looked just a little dazed. That switch seemed very far away now, so very far.

“I like it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Can we do that again? If you want. John, if I’m—”

“I’m not uncomfortable. Or unwilling. But I do have a question.”

“Oh. Good. I mean, ask.”

“What’s the experiment designed to prove? What did Rudy say to you?”

Dorian searched John’s face. He was sure now that Rudy was right, or at least mostly right. Dorian wasn’t ready to deal in terms like love, but he was certain that that was what his feelings for John were becoming, and he welcomed them. Chances were, however, that John was just as far from the stability they both needed to hear the words, to tell the truth. So he settled for something in between.

“He told me to look after you, and to… he said, when I understand what I want, not to let it go.”

“He said to look after me?”

“Yes, why?”

“That’s what the Captain told me. To take you home and look after you. She said she’d taken so long to call because she wanted to give me some privacy… privacy with you.”

Dorian’s brows rose. “Are we that obvious?”

“God, I hope not,” John replied before leaning forward and pulling on Dorian’s shirt to kiss him again. It lasted longer, this time, and Dorian could swear he felt his lips tingle the way people often described it. John pressed against him harder and he tightened the curl of his fingers in John’s hair. If Dorian had had to breathe, it would have caught in his throat when John let out a quiet moan. As if it had startled himself, John broke the kiss again. He fixed his eyes on Dorian with a little difficulty. “Just so you know, that conversation from earlier isn’t over yet.”

“You believe that this is real, right?”

“I told you once that you’re not like the others. I still believe that.”

“Then that conversation might never be over, but I promise that this is true.”

John nodded, his eyes not leaving Dorian’s. “Promise.”


End file.
